Painted in midnight ink, the vast echoes of unwritten love stories linger.

Each stroke of the quill, a dance upon the empty paper, yearning for the caress of your name.

Your silhouette, a ghost in every paragraph, haunts the corridors of my fervent mind.

Do you remember the night where stars cried silver rain?
The night ink turned to echoes.

Your voice, a melody tucked between lines, hidden yet known,
a sonnet of sighs, an elegy of dawns unbroken yet whole.

The letters breathe, alive with an unsaid longing, a silent witness to
passions unspilled, wandering souls.

In silence, they await your touch, your whisper, the dream we've forgotten yet ache to remember.